


Sadistic Choice

by MyceliumMythos



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Blue Team Drama, But also with comedy, But with the emotional range of a teaspoon, Drama, Feelings are discussed, M/M, Mercenary Dickery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 21:31:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3705363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyceliumMythos/pseuds/MyceliumMythos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cornered in an alley in Armonia, the mercenaries force Tucker to make a difficult decision: fight for Chorus?  Or surrender for Wash?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sadistic Choice

            Tucker wondered why his luck was so good that day.  Nobody associated with that homely little hellhole called Blood Gulch ever had any good luck, but on that particular day, not only had Tucker completely avoided Caboose’s morning walk with Freckles—because by “walk, it was meant “accidentally shooting up half of Armonia with the Freckles rifles”—but he managed to get to the mess hall before Grif had cleared it of every food item with cheese.  Or butter.  Or sugar.  Or salt.  So that was nice.

            Oh, and he caught the mercs doing some sort of recon in the capital and managed to corner Felix on the outskirts of the city.  There was that too. 

            It was indescribable, the satisfaction Tucker got from seeing that piece of shit with his back up against the wall.  He was injured from where Tucker had slashed him in their first close encounter and when Tucker shot him during the pursuit.  He was edgy, with minor twitches of his helmet indicating he was looking for a way out.  Most importantly, he was quiet.  That had to be a sure sign that Felix was in a bad spot, if he wasn’t running his mouth off at a million words a minute.

            Tucker grinned, and it came through his voice as he taunted, “What’s the matter, Felix?  Cat got your tongue?  Or did this pussycat just get fucking neutered?”

            Even from behind the visor, Tucker could tell Felix glaring holes through him.  “You’re letting some fucking imaginary power go to your head, _Captain_ ,” Felix growled.

            Tucker scoffed.  “Please,” he said.  “This is some real as fuck power going to my head.  Now, how do you wanna do this?”  He took a few paces towards the mercenary, rifle in hand.  “I’m guessing Kimball would want me to bring you in.  She’s still pretty fucking pissed at you, y’know?  Plus, I’m guessing you’ve got some sweet intel on the rest of the mercs that our doctor could get you to spill.”  He waved his rifle around vaguely, adding, “But honestly, I’m not gonna be too broken up if you try to be a dick on the way back and I have to put a bullet in your fucking brain.”

            Felix hesitated.  “You’re bluffing.”

            That was true.  At this point, Tucker knew he was willing to take Felix down, if it came to that.  But he didn’t think he could pull the trigger as carelessly as he pretended he could.  But Felix didn’t need to know that.

            “You wanna try me, dick biscuit?” Tucker challenged him.  “Look, we both know you’re one sneaky fucking bastard, so if you come with me, you might get back out eventually.  But I don’t think even you could dig your way out from six feet of dirt.  Just keep that in mind.  You really think Locus can lead your half-baked little army alone?”

            Felix continued to look around with more obvious motions.  His pointer finger twitched for the trigger of a gun that had been lost during the chase.  He was desperate for an out.  Tucker was extremely tempted to yell, “Booyah!” right in his face, but knowing their track record, he didn’t want to tempt fate.

            Unfortunately, fate itself had been tempted long ago to screw with them ad infinitum.  Tucker could see this as soon as Felix stopped looking around, instead fixing his gaze on a point past Tucker’s shoulder.  That was why he began to think his good luck wasn’t so good after all.

            “Well, isn’t that magnanimous of you, Captain Tucker?” Felix drawled.  “Such concern for my choice and my men.  And so nice of you to remember Locus.  But really, you don’t have to be so worried.  You’d be surprised by what that guy can pull off on his own.”

            Tucker hesitated.  He felt both like Felix was looking past him and someone had their eyes trained on his back.  There was a voice in his head telling him, “Look behind you,” but he couldn’t risk it on a hunch.

            “What’re you talking about?” Tucker demanded.

            “Oh, well, I’m sure _Vanessa_ clued you in on my and Locus’s tragic past.  The whole fighting to survive a hopeless war thing?”  Felix cocked his head to the side.  “Yeah, that whole deal thought me about two things, all told.  Thing one: if there’s any such thing as hell, it’s fighting a seemingly endless war for minimum fucking wage.  And thing two: Locus will find his way out of any situation, as long as it’s his mission to come out alive.  So, a certain lack of social graces aside, I’m sure he would be perfectly capable of finishing off this planet himself.  Honestly, considering our situation, you should be less focused on whether the mercenaries can run without me,” Felix lowered his voice seriously, “and more about whether you can save this planet without your partner.”

_Look behind you._

            Tucker spun around to the garbled tune of a camo unit deactivating.  As its disguise, he was horrified to see not only Locus standing less than 10 feet away from him, but to see him with his hands on Washington, his helmet gone and his mouth gagged.  The former freelancer was shoved to the ground, allowing Tucker to see that not only were his hands bound behind him, but there seemed to be a trickle of blood from a wound in his back.  Locus stood over him with a pistol pointed at his head.

 _“Wash!”_ Tucker exclaimed.  There was a roar in his head.  There was a jolt in his pulse.  His hand instinctively shot towards his sword at the sight of Wash.  He wanted to lunge at Locus and shoo him as far away as possible, but years of fighting had taught him that following your first instinct was usually a shitty choice in a situation like this.  Instead, he held onto the one advantage he had in this situation, and pointed his rifle back at Felix in turn.

            Raising his hands in a sarcastic sign of surrender, Felix said, “Isn’t this just cozy?  All of the feds’ and rebels’ favorite sons back together.  Glad you could join us Locus.  Wash.”  He nodded to both of them. 

            Locus stood motionless.  Washington let out a muffled grunt and struggled against his bonds.

            Tucker gritted his teeth.  “What do you want, Locus?” he asked.  “Is this a trade?”

            Locus stared at him silently from behind his visorless helmet.  All at once, Tucker could understand why he would choose that model.  It was entirely unnerving.

            “Don’t play dumb, I know how this works!” Tucker snapped, his voice wavering on accident.  “I take my gun off Felix, you take your gun off Wash.  We both go home with an empty scorecard and pretend this shit never happened.”

            The silence continued on Locus’s end.  Behind him, Felix let out a laugh.

 _“What?”_ Tucker demanded.  “One of your fuckhead mercs fess up!  What do you want?”

            “You both underestimate me and overestimate my love of Felix,” Locus said at last.

            Tucker’s chest swelled with frustration.  “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

            “It means this was our plan all along!” Felix crowed.  “You think Locus and I would risk our asses for some useless, poorly-planned recon?  Hell no!  We had our men watching you for weeks.  We _knew_ you and Wash would find us if we were in that exact spot at that exact moment.  We _knew_ we could get you to chase us on your own because you’ve gotten fucking cocky on your own territory lately.  And we _knew_ that it might be tough one on one, but if we could get just one of you on lockdown, then the rest would be a piece of cake.”  Felix laughed again, adding, “Although I’ll give it to you, I thought you would go down first, Tucker.  What’s the matter, Wash?  You hiding a few too many gray hairs under that dye-job?”

            Washington breathed out heavily, his eyes burning with anger at he glared at Felix.  He struggled harder, as if he might be able to crawl towards Felix and attack him that way, but Locus knelt beside him, and pressed the pistol against his skull.

            “Fine!  Whatever!” Tucker exclaimed.  “You outsmarted the idiot who couldn’t even get drafted into the real army and Mr. Grappling Hook Balls.  Good for you.  Now, _what_ do you _want_ from that already?”

            “We want the two of you,” Locus explained.  “We intend to remove you from Armonia, to extract all useful information on our opponents from you, and to hold you as a bargaining chip against them.  We want to carve the heart out of the armies of Chorus—to take away their tools and crush their morale.  This should be as effective in destroying them as leading them to believe you were dead.”

            “Basically, you’ve done so much for those poor saps that your reward is now to be used as weapons against them,” Felix said.  “Congratulations.  Just hand yourself over to receive your prize.”

            Tucker glanced back and forth between the mercenaries.  He was looking for any sign of a bluff.  Tucker looked down at Wash, who stared back at him imploringly.  He took a chance.  “Look, I don’t know what kind of fucking advantage you guys think you have here,” Tucker shrugged, trying to sound confident.  “Like, I could still pull the trigger on Major Douchecanoe here any time.  If you guys try to take us with you, there aren’t going to be four people walking out of this alley.”

            Felix called it.  He went for the jugular.  “Okay, but as I believe we’ve made clear before,” Felix pointed out, “Locus doesn’t really like me.  I’m not sure he really likes anything, except getting a shiny new set of orders from Command.  So, y’know, probably not a lot lost from his perspective if you did manage to put my pretty little head to rest.  But…”  Felix stared at him straight on.  Tucker’s heart froze for a beat.  “C’mon.  It’s not exactly subtle.  Half the planet knows about your crush on the stray freelancer.  Every other conversation with you was about ‘Where’s Wash?  When are we going to get him?’  You wrote about him in your _diary!_   Do you expect us to believe there’s any chance you’d let him die just to kill me?”

            “Fuck off, Felix!” Tucker shouted at him.  “You don’t know me.  Maybe I’d be fucking glad to get Wash off my back.  I could actually sleep in past 6 a.m. for once, and I’d never have to run another fucking drill again.”  But he only said that because it was impossible for him to be honest anymore.  It was impossible for him to look Wash in the eye anymore either.  As soon as he had to be honest, he would be admitting defeat, because he…he and Wash…it was just…Tucker didn’t even want to think about it.  And Felix already knew too much.

            “Hm.  Maybe you’re right,” Felix conceded.  “Either way, the choice is yours.  You can let the four of us walk out of here in one piece, or cut your losses with Wash and test your luck against Locus.”  He lowered his head and teasingly said, “Have fun.”

            Tucker was caught.  He was caught just as much as Wash.  Because on one hand, it would absolutely be to Chorus’s advantage if he killed Felix here and now.  And after that, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to take on Locus in a fair fight.  Honestly, he was still a little terrified of the guy, but he felt certain he could at least make sure the mercenary didn’t walk away unscathed, and since they were still in the city limits, maybe someone else on his side could finish the job.

 _But on the other hand, Wash._   Wash, who had come to the Blue Team at his lowest point and pushed them forward and would’ve protected them with his life and made Tucker want to do the same, and really fight for some too—that Wash.  Tucker couldn’t pull the trigger on him. 

            He couldn’t, could he?

            “Tucker, don’t do it!”

            Tucker was jerked back to the moment at hand by the sound of Wash’s voice.  He had somehow managed to push off his gag and was staring up at Tucker with a look of fierce determination.

            “You can’t let the take us both in” Washington shouted at him.  “The whole planet is at stake here and you can’t let--”

            Locus smacked the butt of his pistol against the back of Wash’s head, cutting him off abruptly.  Tucker cringed at the sound of the blow against bone.  He was so used to people taking massive attacks while shielded by their armor, fhe had forgotten how unsettling it would be otherwise.

            “Gosh, I am just so sorry for that,” Felix apologized with all the false sincerity he could manage.  “That was just so rude of Wash to interrupt you when you’re obviously deep in thought.  I promise we’ll keep a better lid on him.  Please, take your time.”

            “Felix,” Locus growled from across the alley.  He spoke in a “f-minute warning” tone of voice.

            “Or maybe not,” Felix laughed.  “Apparently, my partner has an itchier trigger finger than I thought.  Better make up your mind, Captain.”

            A number of prominent thoughts floated around in Tucker’s mind as he considered his choice.  One was how badly Felix’s voice grated against him.  Another was of how terrifying it would be to have Locus’s visorless helmet as one’s last sight.  One was of how badly Chorus would be hurt and what it would lose if he and Wash could be used against it.  But another was of having to face Kimball and Doyle, the lieutenants, the Reds, Carolina and Church, and Caboose, and tell them all that Wash wasn’t coming back.  He thought of having to tell himself that Wash was gone and it felt like both his head and his heart were about to split in two.

            “This is some Grade A, motherfucking bullshit!” Tucker yelled at the mercenaries.  “What kind of lives are you leading that his is how you spend your Sunday?  Look, I know the weekend is almost over and that’s no fun, but for crying out loud, just get a hobby to fill up the time.  Take up scrapbooking or some shit.”

            “You know, maybe I’ll take that into consideration,” Felix said.  “I’m going to need a hobby after I retire.  But that can’t happen until you make your call.”

            “Time is running out, Captain Tucker,” Locus said.  “You need to make your decision.”

            Tucker glanced over at him and at Wash, whose eyes were screwed tight and teeth were gritted down.  As Tucker stared at him, he could feel his own rifle, still trained on Felix, becoming heavier and heavier.

            But at the same time, he noticed at the mouth f the alley-was that a flash of blue he could see there?  Or was it a seafoam-aqua-thin mint green?  Either way, Tucker took a chance and changed gears to do what the Blues and Reds did best—bullshitted his way through.

            “Look, I know you guys are probably pressed for time.  You’ve gotta go check in with Evil Incorporated before you go murder the Rainbow Puppy Kitten Galaxy or whatever,” Tucker said, shrugging.  “But before we go any further with this do you wanna talk about exactly what we’re bargaining for here?”

            Felix hesitated.  “What do you mean?”

            “Well, for one thing—and you can check with Kimball or verification on this,--I am a high maintenance man to keep.  I need a humidifier if it’s too cold, a dehumidifier if it’s too warm, and I need both of them if one of the machines isn’t loud enough.”  Tucker channeled his inner Donut to power through this.  “I’m not sleeping on whatever ratty-ass cots you have in your cells, okay?  I need a mattress—a real one with memory foam and Shit.  Memory foam is the key here, okay?  And some Egyptian cotton sheets.  And don’t even get me started on my need-needs.  I’m a needy dude.”

            “Tucker—”

            “I’m talking about porn.  Do you mercs even have nudey mags or do you have to use alternative methods?  Wait, what am I talking about?  You guys have the only off-planet communication on Chorus!  You don’t have to settle for magazines.”

            “…Tucker—”

            “Also, have you even thought about having Wash around?  He’s enough of a pain in the ass to have on our side.  He is like freakishly on target with the rules and order thing.  If he can make our shitty-ass lieutenants run drills at 7 every day, how systematic do you think he’s gonna be about trying to break out of your base?  Seriously, it’s gonna be like wake up, try to break out eat lunch, try to break out, just one of your guards decides he needs some alone time, he’ll try to fucking break out.  You’ll have a jittery ex-Freelancer and a miserable fucking life.  Trust me.”

            “Tuck—”

            “And not to mention—”

            “Enough!”

            Tucker looked back at Locus, whose trigger finger was literally twitching now, although possibly out of annoyance instead of a desire to kill Wash.

            “You have wasted enough of our time,” Locus snapped.  “Stop stalling and make your choice now.”

            “He’s got a point, Fucker,” Felix nodded.  “No offense, but we’re not exactly in the mood to meet up with the rest of your soldiers.  So what’ll it be?  Chorus?  Or Wash?”

            Smirking, Tucker stepped aside to reveal the entrance of the alley, hoping this move didn’t leave him looking like a total jackass.  “Maybe I’ll just let my friends make that decision.  How about it guys?  What do you—aw, fuck.”

            It was not Carolina waiting for them at the end of the alley.  It was Caboose.  He was holding the Freckles rifle upside-down.

            “Oh, hello, Mr. Free Licks,” Caboose greeted Felix.  “It is very nice to see youn again.  Yes.”

            Tucker palmed his face.  Locus and Felix exchanged a look, and then Felix just burst out laughing.  Even without looking, he could feel Wash’s accusatory stare burning holes through him.  It was true, sometimes mistakes were mistakes, but this definitely felt like an “I Fucked Up” moment.

            “Just go home, Caboose,” Tucker sighed.  “Go tell Kimball me and Wash won’t be back any time soon.”

            “What, and miss out on all the fun?  Not a chance in hell, man.”

            And that was when Tucker got the feeling that his luck had just about evened out for the day.  When he looked up again, there was a small, blue figure standing on Caboose’s shoulder, one holding a miniature sniper rifle.

            “Church!” Tucker exclaimed.  “Thank fuck.”

            “Well, you know,” Epsilon said, “I don’t want to miss the chance to fuck with some mercenary punks.”  He briefly disappeared, only to reappear on Caboose’s other shoulder.  “Hey, Caboose,” he said.  “You listening?”

            “Yes, I am always listening to everyone all the time,” Caboose nodded eagerly.  “Even to the people who are watching us all the time.”

            “Yeah, sure.  Whatever,” Epsilon said.  “Look, we need you to get mad again for a bit.  Do you remember how?”  The AI briefly flashed from light blue to a sickly white color and then back again.

            “I-I think I do, Church,” Caboose said.  “But why do I need to be angry?  There are not any kittens here and I already paid my taxes this year.”

            “Yeah, but see that Locus guy?  The one with the big green x on his face?” Epsilon prompted him.  “Well, that guy’s being a huge dick to Wash right now and you need to hu—…You need to help him up.  Got it, bud?”

            There was a pause in the scene, and a moment when neither of the mercenaries knew what to expect, if anything.  But Tucker knew, and he squeezed himself against the wall to avoid the raging bull that would inevitably charge down the alley.

            Then finally, it happened.

            “MY NAME IS MICHAEL J. CABOOSE.  AND I HATE GRASSHOPPERS.”

            Rage-mode Caboose wasn’t afraid to run full-tilt at an opponent with a pistol trained on him, and regular Caboose didn’t care if the opponent he fought was invisible.  Tucker had never thought he would live to see the day when Terrifying Special Ops Guy Locus got suplexed by Caboose.  But that happened.  And it was beautiful.

            As it turned out, Carolina _was_ there too.  When Felix tried to sneak past Tucker while he was laughing his ass off over Locus’s indignity, Carolina leapt down from the top of an adjacent building, scuffled with the mercenary, and then gave chase when he tried to escape.  Locus, in the process of crawling away from Caboose, threw a flashbang off in another direction, which Caboose chased after for some reason, and while he was distracted, Locus managed to flee the scene as well.  It was only when Tucker’s laughter died down over how awesomely that had turned out that he realized he was left alone in the alley with Wash, and that Wash seemed specifically to be not moving.

            “Whoa, Wash!”  Tucker dropped his rifle and dashed over to kneel at Wash’s side.  The sheer uncertainty of the situation was done with, but he had a new brand of worry to deal with.  He wasn’t sure of what to do now.  He didn’t even have a medkit on hand.  And were you supposed to move a guy who might have a head injury?  Tucker’s hands hovered over his back uncertainly for a moment.  Then Wash opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Tucker.

            Tucker let out a sigh of relief and grinned broadly.  “Dude!” he exclaimed.  “You had me worried there for a second.  What’re you doing, lying down on the job?” 

            Washington continued to stare at him blankly, and then tried to sit up.  He winced, either at his head or the wound in his back.

            “Hey, chill, Wash,” Tucker told him, pulling his own helmet off.  “Asshole mercs are gone now.  Caboose and Carolina kicked their asses.  Blue Team represent and all that.”

            As Wash continued to push himself up, he seemed more entrenched in his own thoughts than in the conversation.  Tucker chalked it up to the head wound.  He was probably just disoriented.  Since Tucker was still feeling unnerved by all of this, he continued to yammer on, to try to fill in enough conversation for both of them.

            “I mean, technically, Carolina’s still undeclared, but she is aqua-teal-seafoam, and our team does get all the girls, so she’s probably Blue Team, right?” Tucker said.  “She’s got that emotional baggage bull we seem to love too.  Oh, hey, do you want me to get those cuffs off you too?  If you don’t mind me cutting it a little close, I could probably cut through them with my sword.”

            Wash, now staring vaguely downward, offered his hands out.  Tucker took that to mean “yes.”  It was only when Tucker was seated behind him, carefully slicing through his handcuffs, that Wash spoke up.

            “Tucker?” he said in an uncharacteristically small voice.

            “Yeah, Wash?”

            He hesitated.  “What you said before,” he said slowly.  “Would you have…were you really…”  As Tucker paused in his efforts to listen, Wash suddenly changed to a lighter tone, a faster pace.  “Would you have really pegged Carolina for a Blue?” he asked.

            “Well…yeah, duh,” Tucker laughed, glad for the conversation.  “She’s got all the signs, man.”

            “Huh.  That’s funny,” Wash murmured thoughtfully.  “She always wanted to be on the red team when we played Capture the Flag.  I think it must have been her favorite color.”

            “Wait, you Freelancers played Capture the Flag?” Tucker asked.  “You had your own war games and shit?  I thought that was just what you used us for.”

            “Yeah, North would always convince us to play when we had some downtime.  We didn’t play in armor or with real weapons, just so it wouldn’t get too dangerous.  But it was still crazy competitive, just like everything else on the Mother of Invention.”

            “Man, that’s kinda weird to think about,” Tucker commented, getting back to work.  He didn’t often think of Wash and Carolina in the context of still working for Project Freelancer.  It was even less often that he remembered they used to be part of a super team with half a dozen other super soldiers like them.  “I bet you and Carolina kicked ass and took some serious names in those games, though,” he joked.

            Wash didn’t seem amused though.  “Actually,” he said, “Carolina and I didn’t usually play on the same team.  In fact, the team I was on almost always lost.  It just…kind of turned out that way.”

            Tucker finished cutting Wash free from his restraints.  He also offered to help him up, but Wash insisted on doing the rest himself.  He wouldn’t lean on Tucker either, and didn’t say anything else until they found Caboose crying over the fact that he’d gone blind again.  There was distance between them for the entire walk home.


End file.
